


Under the Cold Dark Sea

by bluemermaid



Category: Rebecca - Daphne du Maurier
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid





	Under the Cold Dark Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



From the window you can see the ocean.

She always loved this most, her constant view of freedom. "Only on the sea can I be my true self, Danny," she would say, tossing her hair back, and then she'd laugh and it would be her secret laugh, the laugh she only shared with me. _When I'm with you I am my purest self,_ her laughter said. _You bring me more than even the rolling waves can give me._

But not even I could save her from those waves, from the crushing defeat of the sea. I who had warned her, time and time again, not to go out in those storms, not to risk the danger. But she thought she could handle anything. At times I thought so, too.

Here now I stand, alone in her bedroom, with the curtains pulled back just enough to look upon that distant sea, to feel the ocean breeze on my skin and imagine it is her hand caressing my cheek and her lips on my neck.

The rooms were sealed away for so long, kept dark and empty until their mistress could come back to claim them. But she never did return. And so I broached that barrier, unable to contain my longing for one more moment. Placed my hands upon those doors and stifled my moans, bit back the sob which threatened to escape my chest, for it is never proper to allow such weak emotions to pass my lips. I must keep up my strength, for the sake of the house.

Still I could not bear to be without those last vestiges of her presence, the deepest and closest parts of her heart, lingering on in her most private rooms. I had been welcome in that inner sanctum during her life, and why should I not go there after her -- after she left me? Besides, it would not do to let the dust settle there; a house must be kept clean from top to bottom, after all. That is what I would say, should anyone ask me. Should Mr. de Winter inquire after the state of the West Wing. I would tell him that it was safe in my hands, because it always would be.

I did not blame him for leaving, for being unable to walk through those corridors. How could I, when clearly he was as wrought with grief as I? We all deal differently with our pain. He had to escape, lest he be forced into misery at the sight of his wife's belongings. I, however, could not live without that connection, yearned to be amongst the tables and chairs and dressing gowns that she had touched.

And so I stood there, in the midst of it all, looking out upon the sea and feeling her all around me, my heart aching inside of me at the thought that she could be here still, invisible and lingering, cold and desperate. Would she come back if she could, would she claim me again as her own? 

Of course. It was foolish of me to fear otherwise. Who had she ever loved more than me, who else could she ever possibly come back for? Her, to succumb to death, when she had always burned so brightly with life? Never. She would come back, and she would come back for me.

I could feel her now, her arms around my waist, her laughter in my ear. _"Did you really think I could ever leave you, my Danny? You're terrible for thinking it. Terrible for sympathizing with dear old Max even, because you know I never really loved him. I love you, Danny."_

She kissed me then, a fierce enveloping of my spirit with her own, the shimmering ghost of her surrounding me and filling my heart with a fearful comfort. She was here, though she would be nothing but air, nothing but the sea breeze on my lips. Nothing but her faintest presence, a subtle stirring of the atmosphere, a cool gloom to the environment that spoke of something beyond the watery grave. But she was here. She was with me still.

*

That foolish creature, that pathetic little girl. A girl! Not a woman as she had been, not a vibrant, living creature, but a shadow, a pale and limp imitation of life. How dare she bow her head to me, how dare she scurry from my gaze like a mouse, like a servant, like a dust mote swept away by the bristles of my broom.

Why shouldn't I be cold and distant, cruel and sweeping, pushing the girl away from my stare? I am here to assist the mistress of the house, and this girl does not deserve such a title. Never could she in any circumstances, and to attempt it here, now, after Rebecca, disgusts me. Though I had presumed to understand Maxim de Winter once, now I turned away from him, furious and betrayed. To bring this shadow into this house, to flaunt the stuttering, lifeless fool in a home that raged with the spirit of one who was actually without life. Disgusting.

She came to me still, wandered those dim hallways with all the force she had showed in life, forever claiming Manderley as her own and never letting me forget her, never allowing me to let her go, as though I could. I stood at her window and I lay in her bed, face pressed into those satin sheets, enveloped by her scent and her constant presence by my side.

Together we raged at the girl, stalked her stumbling steps on someone else's property, sneered at her uncertainty and fear, looked down upon her. If she had been stronger, if she had blazed with life the way my Rebecca had, perhaps I could have forgiven them for intruding; perhaps I could have come to love this new mistress, too. But I felt furious with myself to even think such a horrible thing. There was no woman like Rebecca.

 _"Get rid of her,"_ she hissed into my ear, in our darkest moments, in the latest hour of night, when not even the moon dare shine its light into her bedroom, as I twist her dressing gown around my body. _"She is unworthy. This is my house, Danny, and I would never let such a stupid thing as death keep me from it. Keep me from you."_

She haunted me still, would never not lay her cold hands upon my heart. And I would obey her every whim, as I had done in life. She owned me, and I gave it willingly to her, for there was simply no other option. I was her servant in every way possible, and many other things besides. And she was my Rebecca.

The girl, the shadow, she was the one who ought to be dead. Spreading her misery across the grounds, her pathetic attempts to please. It was no wonder Mr. de Winter remained sullen and grave; he missed his proper wife. How could he not? Really, truly, it would be better for everyone if the true Mrs. de Winter came back.

I stood at the window watching the sea, and I wondered if it were possible for a ghost to take the body of a living being, to begin again as someone else. Surely if there were ever a vessel, the girl would do perfectly; she was already empty inside, a nothingness, paler than death and so silent, so weak. It would be easy for Rebecca to take her. 

Could I bear to see my beloved smiling at me through the eyes of another? None could capture her true beauty, her spirit. It would be a travesty, it would be a waste of her effort, to take this creature as her own. She would be better off dead.

But no; I could not bear to be without her. I would do anything, whatever it took, to bring her back to me, to infuse these rooms with her love again, warmth all around me instead of the endless cold of death. The girl was unworthy but she was there, and she did not deserve it, she did not deserve to live in this house. And it was my job to take care of the house, after all. Surely that included removing intruders.

"Why don't you go?" I said, pushing in on her, struggling to breathe, struggling to contain my emotions. I needed the confidence that she had always given me, the love tearing at my spirit. All I could feel in that moment was the emptiness, the crushing grief of despair and loss. I could push forever and never get my lady to come back to me. I felt terror crawling up my back. "We none of us want you."

The girl, the pathetic pale shadow of a girl, she looked out that window and I thought I had done it, I thought I'd won and I could feel Rebecca grow stronger beside me, her love and her never ending thirst for life. 

"Go on," I whispered, desperate, frightened and eager, not knowing what would happen, not knowing what I would do, just needing Rebecca beside me and willing to do whatever it would take. "Go on, don't be afraid."

She nearly did it then, but then the rockets went off. Reality thundered its way back into my mind; Rebecca was gone, and I must take care of the house.

Life would go on; the girl would live and I would serve her, however reluctantly. She did not deserve any of it, and yet it was my duty, and I would do what was necessary. There was no black magic that would remove such an unworthy soul from its vessel, no dirty deed I could foster in order to bring a spirit back from the crypt. If anyone could have come back, it would have been Rebecca, and it was not to be, for the days stretched on long and grey without her return, without her warmth and fire, without her laughter and light.

Still, I would stand for long hours at her window, and I would look out upon the sea. And she would be there beside me, somehow, invisible and silent, cold and faint and grey. But I would forever feel her presence, in the halls of Manderley.


End file.
